How to Save a Life
by GondorCalling
Summary: Sequel to Broken Mirrors. He isn't Canada- he's Matthew Williams, and Matthew is trying to put his life back in order. Distancing himself from everything that is a part of the old him is the only way to do that...Right? Then why is he still afraid of bathrooms and swords?
1. Chapter 1

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ BROKEN MIRRORS THERE IS NO POINT IN READING THIS. I MEAN YOU COULD TRY BUT IT'LL BE HARD. SO READ THAT SHITTY PIECE OF SHIT FIC AND THEN READ THIS BECAUSE I PROMISE THAT THIS WILL BE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT.

* * *

The house was nice. Nothing special, old enough to have the lovely wooden personal touches left by the builders, but new enough to look modest instead of fanciful. The porch didn't wrap around the front and sides, nor did it have a balcony like his brother's. It was just…nice.

Canada needed nice. He hadn't had nice for a long time.

The nation stood at the door to his new home with a few bags at his feet and the keys in his hands. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, carrying what little possessions he had brought with him. The building was sparsely furnished, but he was sure to fix that soon enough. Matthew nodded approvingly and smiled slightly. He could make this work, he'd have to. Toronto was a buzzing metropolis filled with new opportunities and plenty of people that didn't know him- as long as he stayed away from the provincial government buildings. The neighbourhood was good, Gerard and Main street, the place was far enough from Queens Park so the chances of not being seen were excellent.

Matthew walked up the stairs and pushed open the first door to his left. The bathroom. His mouth tightened as he recalled the events of the previous year when he had first decided to disappear from his flat and capital all together.

_"He attempted to stand up and eventually managed to pull himself though the darkness to the washroom. His legs felt as though they would give out from underneath him at any given moment. _

_He needed a light._

_He had to see._

_He had to make sure it was him._

_He had to make sure that he was himself._

_Canada's trembling hands found the switch and the lights flickered on. The walls were stained with reddish brown streaks. There was a strange rotting smell that filled his nose._

_The mirror was smashed and barely there._

_Matthew pretty much fell out of the washroom and slammed the door behind him. _

_His bedroom was still drenched in darkness that bled into everything, maybe it was a certain dark madness that accidentally bled into his mind. _

_This couldn't be happening._

_He was better. He was okay. He just needed time._

_Turning around Canada slowly re-opened the door. He breathed laboured breaths._

_It was fine. The bath room was clean._

_He would be okay._"

He hadn't been okay. Everything he did, everything he saw, reminded the nation of Him. That horrible man who had ruined his life and trailed behind him as a smashed reflection. With a shaky sigh Canada closed the door to the washroom, firmly, and walked to his new bedroom. It was at the front of the house, with a window that looked out onto the road. Light shone through the window brightening up the clean room and illuminating the tiny bits of dust floating like snow in the blank space.

'Think of snow.' Matthew told himself, 'You like snow.' In his mind he listed all of his favourite things until the shaking had left his bones. The young man had lost count of the amount of times he had had to use this coping strategy. His list always stopped though right before he could reach names. He didn't want to think of names right now. Canada pulled his new cell phone from his pocket and flicked through the contact list. It was empty except for two names; Gil, and Al.

When Canada left his flat with only a few bags he had tried to distance himself from everything that had led up to his initial breakdown. That apartment was the last straw, at night he could feel old memories seeping into the cracks of his mind- warping and disfiguring his personality. He had changed his number, stopped going to meetings, moved out of the heart of his country, and even left Kumajirou behind. Since his current boss didn't really like Toronto, he hadn't been to the large city in a long time. Matthew curled his lip in distaste; his "boss" didn't have control over him anymore. That's right- for the first time in forever Matthew Williams was taking control of his life. He had to get back on track, if he couldn't…well then there was no hope and he might as well try and get stabbed by France again.

Canada shook his head of the thought. He realised that his hand had drifted to the scar on his chest that was left from the sword and now gripped the material of his shirt tightly. A strange pain seemed to emanate from it and with a slight gasp he was no longer in his new bedroom. He had done it again- let his mind slip. Now the young nation found himself kneeling in the hallway of the meeting place. Blood poured from his chest and the sound of sobbing hit his ears. He felt something drip from his mouth as he coughed. The taste of copper was undeniable. He knew what happened next. The darkness came, then She came. She, who had supposedly made it all better. He began to fall and the ground came up to meet him.

The darkness came.

* * *

So yes? No? Should it suffice for my disappearance? I am pretty happy with it so really, you can complain but I'll keep going. This time I'll even write it on my laptop to avoid stupid mistakes that were prevalent in Broken Mirrors.


	2. Chapter 2

STILL UNEDITED BC I WANT MY FRIEND LIDIA TO READ THIS BEFORE SHE GOES TO SLEEP. I'LL EDIT IT WHEN I WAKE UPIT'S 1 AM HERE.

* * *

He awoke on the floor. He was doing that a lot lately. Standing up, Matthew stretched out his limbs and cracked his neck. The chill of his new house had permeated his bones, and ran through his veins.

"No place like home…" he muttered softly to himself.

Stepping softly down the stairs, he made his way to the kitchen. He looked at the empty cupboards and sighed, that's right. He had only brought the bare necessities with him. No food yet, or a kettle to make coffee. So back up the stairs he climbed and changed quickly into a button down plaid shirt and casual jeans. Matthew rifled through his bag and triumphantly pulled out the pieces of paper he had been searching for.

His resume.

It had been a while since he had last worked but he managed to put down some reliable names and jobs he had done as projects a few years back. Sure, Matthew had money, but it wouldn't last if he was to keep missing out on his duties as a nation. Maybe if his government stopped recognizing him as Canada then he would become human…That would be nice. He could grow old, have a family, not have to break up with someone every five years when they noticed he wasn't aging, and possibly pass away surrounded by loved ones. He knew there was a Death of course. Every nation was acquainted with them and most referred to the being as an old friend; the term used with bitterness and contempt of course.

That being said, Matthew needed a job. He couldn't sit around all day waiting for another break down. His mind needed a distraction. There was already a place nearby that would take him, he called in advance. The hard copy of the resume was just in case they asked. Never hurt to be too prepared, eh?

Matthew walked out of the small building with a slight smirk on his face. He had always had a passion for the arts, and now he would be able to work with some children at this fine establishment. He was fairly certain he had aced the interview, as Stacey, one of the women who ran the business had been thoroughly impressed by his references and past experience.

The Art Cave was a small building that could almost be mistaken as an addition to the restaurant it was attached to. It didn't look like much but the gist of the business was to spread the love of the arts by doing workshops and classes for children, and some select courses for teenagers and adults. By subway, the trip would only be about 15 minutes from his home. Matthew was glad; he never really was the early bird type. The hours he would work changed depending on the times of classes he would be working at, which was good because the night mares didn't give him much time to sleep at night.

_'Might as well get something to eat._' He thought as his stomach grumbled loudly, catching his attention. It occurred to him that he hadn't had breakfast or dinner the previous day. There were many cafes in the area but the sparse change in Matthew's pocket brought to his attention the fact that he had forgotten his bank card at home. He sighed and wandered to the nearest Tim Hortons. Cheap, easy, fast, but not too healthy. God he loved this place.

Matthew stood off to the side waiting for his bagel, fidgeting slightly. He felt unsteady. Placing his hand to his forehead he tried to take in deep breaths. This better not be another episode coming on. There wasn't even anything slightly triggering. Panic began to well up inside of his as he looked around the restaurant for the washrooms. His eyes flitted nervously around and he felt himself waver on the spot.

"Plain bagel with butter!" came a cry from one of the workers. Matthew quickly took it from the busy employee, uttering a fast thanks. He hurried to the men's room where he marched into a stall and safely locked it behind him. No point getting anyone else involved; this was his problem, his mind, his insanity. Matthew felt his stomach lurch and fell to his knees in front of the toilette. He began to vomit what little contents of his stomach remained.

Eventually the retching subsided and he pushed himself up from his hunched position. Sweat ran down his face and breathing was no easy feat. Flashes of blood and gore constantly crept in on his vision.

'_Memories_.' He thought, '_Of what he-no… I did.'_

Never in his life would Matthew forgive himself for the incident he had caused at that meeting. The scars were still left on his brother's face and marred his previously flawless skin. Alfred had tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but it had been his own hands that had done the deed. It had been his mind that he'd let slip. It had been his voice that had laughed and taunted. It had been him who had tried to kill his brother. Twice.

When he found the strength to stand, he pushed himself onto his own two feet. He stumbled at first but caught himself by placing both his hands on the stall door in front of him. Matthew rested his head against the firm surface before him, breathing heavily. He could tell that he wasn't coherent but he could give one flying fuck at the moment. With shaking hands he managed to unlock the door, and peering out, Matthew saw no one in the washroom. He sighed in relief. He looked into the mirror in front of him and saw his hair sticking to his face that shone in the sickening white light with a layer of sweat. His eyes were wide and his skin looking almost dangerously pale.

He reached into the small bag he had brought with him and pulled out a pair of scissors. He was not thinking properly, he really wasn't. He shouldn't be doing this…But he did. His messed up hair was maddening to his fevered mind. It got in the way of…everything. Maybe it would help him escape. Maybe…Maybe if he didn't look like him it would help.

With a ceremonious finality, Mathew slowly cut off his long, wavy locks. He would periodically glance at the door, hoping no one would come in to interrupt him. Soon his hair was short. Shorter than it ever had been. He would have to go to a barber to get it fully fixed, but he kind of liked it, it was choppy sure but in a way the style reminded him of Alfred's hair.

'_Good, he was always stronger anyways.'_

With a curt nod to his reflection Matthew wobbled out of the bathroom. He kept his head down to avoid any odd looks he got. On the way out the door he felt himself stumble as another bout of vertigo hit him. A firm hand grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.

"Shit! Are you alrigh-"

The voice cut off mid-sentence. Matthew stiffened. He knew that voice. That German accent. He also knew those strong hands all too well. The scar on his chest throbbed. It had been his sword after all that had pierced his flesh. Matthew spared one look at Gilbert before jerking away. He twisted out of the albino's grasp and started to run. He didn't know how he was running or where he was even going. All he knew was the dark bags under Prussia's eyes and the voice calling after him.

He wasn't safe here.

He had to get out.

It was too much.

Too much.

His vision cut to black.


	3. Chapter 3

okay but this is actually happy even though it's short. Strong language but, Prussia is like that. So's Canada.

* * *

When Matthew awoke he was alone. It was dark out and an eerie creaking could be heard throughout his home. He felt the darkness creeping up to his bed. He wanted to scream but he was too tired. Why was he always too damn tired? The darkness consumed him and his eyes shut. This became a pattern for the whole night through.

Violet eyes fluttered open to annoying sunlight. Lazily, Matthew shifted to look at his clock.

"Ten o'clock…" He muttered and let his head fall back on his pillow. As soon as his head touched the bed he shot back up. "Ten o'clock! Fuck I'm late! I am so fucking late. Oh fuck fucking fuckity fucking _FUCK._" He continued to scream profanities as he jumped out of bed and rifled through his bag for a change of clothes and swiftly rid himself of his pajamas and dressed. Running from his room, Matthew grabbed his glasses and shoved them onto his face. His feet pounded across the wooden floorboards. "Breakfast," He gasped, "Shit I have nothing for breakfast." He ran down the stairs and skidded into the hall. He nabbed his coat which hung off the bottom of the steps and threw it on. He stumbled into his kitchen but froze at what he saw. Prussia. Prussia, the man too proud to cry when his own nation dissolved, was standing at his stove cooking while singing softly to himself.

"Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend, somewhere along in the bitterness…I would have stayed up with you all night, had I known how to— Shit! Matt, don't scare me like that!"

Matthew just stood dumb struck and numb in the doorway. He struggled to get the words out of his mouth.

"What are you-no- stop-you have to go- you shouldn't be here- you should be-"

"Hey, kid, relax, deep breaths." Prussia turned off the stove and began to walk towards him. Matthew stepped back and grabbed the doorframe to hold him steady. "You started acting all freaky when I saw you at Tim Hortons… I followed you and you passed out. I found the address to this place in your pocket and decided to bring you back here."

His words fell to deaf ears. "You have to go. You have to leave, Gil."

"Kid, I just want to help-"

"Then leave."

"No."

"What?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Why? Why?" Prussia's stature changed. He straightened his back and looked Matthew dead in the eyes. His voice grew colder and the words were spat into Matthew's face, "Matthew, you have been missing for _months._ Your idiot brother is damn near ready to get the CIA to make you a search and rescue priority, France hasn't stopped begging us to put out some notice of your absence, your government has no clue where you went, and England won't say anything because he's too damn proud, but I know he hasn't been sleeping."

Matthew had turned his head away. He didn't want to see the pain on his friend's face. "What about you?" he mumbled.

The Prussian's face softened. "I've been scouring the whole damn Earth for you, you little shit head."

Matthew crumbled. He wanted to run to him. He wanted to hold the man. He wanted to cry into his shoulder and feel again. But he couldn't. Matthew, instead, slid down the doorframe and wrapped his arms around his crouching, prone form. Matthew didn't cry. He stared at his feet and whispered the heavy words to Prussia, "Gil… You need to go."_ Stay_ . _I need you to stay. "_I left to get away from all of you." _I want to protect you but I need you to protect me first. "_I need to sort out my life right now." _I can't do this. I am going to die._

Prussia looked crestfallen. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but his lips stayed sealed shut in a thin line. The albino suddenly started forward and strutted past Matthew. As he passed, his slender fingers brushed through his hair. Involuntarily, Matthew's own hand shot up and grabbed the other's. Red and violet met each other and behind each shining eyes were storms of unspoken cries for help. Prussia gave the impression that it was struggle to look away, maybe it was.

"Can't believe I'm actually doing this…but…" he said.

Matthew gasped softly. This was it. He'd bought it. The final nail in his coffin. He should be glad but all he could feel was the empty, gutted, loneliness he was trying to fix.

He pulled his hand out of Matthew's and walked to the door. Without looking back, Prussia told him, "I'm going to hang around here for a little while. You can't get rid of me that easily birdie."

With a click Prussia locked the door and pulled off his light coat. He wore a loose t-shirt and jeans. He flashed a bright smile to Matthew.

"I want to help you, Canada."

"That's not my name."

Prussia ignored his statement. He just walked away from the coat hanger and past Matthew's form still curled on the ground.

"C'mon, I made pancakes."

Matthew gave a wan smile. "I guess you've made yourself at home, eh Gil?"

Prussia winked at him. "You know me. The vagabond natinonless nation, and there is no way in hell you are getting me to leave you like this."

* * *

WHAT'S THIS? I ACTUALLY WROTE A HAPPY ENDING TO A CHAPTER? THIS IS NEW.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm really sorry about being away for so long. This school year really got to me and I was having a lot of difficulties in math and science. I am back though and ready to GET THIS FIC DONE. YEAH. I'VE BEEN FEELING SO BAD ABOUT THIS BUT HERE'S AN UPDATE.

* * *

Much to Matthew's chagrin, Prussia kept his promise and stayed in the house. Matthew tried his best to make things as uncomfortable as possible. Dinners would be filled with awkward silences, evenings would be Prussia attempting to talk to him but they'd soon become one sided conversations, and in the mornings Matthew would wake up early and shower so that his house guest wouldn't see him covered in sweat and notice he tear tracks marking his cheeks. Despite all of these faults, Prussia still seemed to wake up from the newly bought couch with a smile and no complaints of a stiff back. He refused to look at Matt with anything but admiration. Somehow, he eventually saw through the façade. When Matthew walked downstairs, fresh out of the shower, he'd find Gil waiting, no matter how early, and the man would flash his usual smile and just say, "We'll work on it."

It had been three weeks since Gilbert had come to Matthew's new home.

"G'night Canada!" Gil yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

Matthew rolled over on his bed with a groan. "Fuck you too." He yelled back, flipping the bird despite knowing that the other man would never see it.

The kids at work had been a rowdy bunch that day. A lot of loud voices clamoring for attention still echoed in his ears. One young girl, Willow, had stared at him with wide hazel eyes. She silently passed him a drawing she had done in crayon when the others had moved on to arguing amongst themselves. The drawing was of a blocky figure full of bright colours and a large dark scribble behind them.

"Who's this person Willow?" he asked softly as he knelt down to talk to her. The child smiled at him, her face full of life and vitality.

She pointed to the figure, "That's you. You're really nice and happy so I think you should get all the bestest colours."

"What about that black smudge? Is that an animal?"

She shook her head and a frown crossed her small features, "No that's the night mares." Matthew's grip on the sheet of paper tightened and his smile felt a little more forced.

"What night mares, honey?"

"The big bad ones you get. You always look tired when you're alone. I have night mares a lot and they make me tired too. Are you ascared of the dark? I am. We can be scared together and maybe then you won't be so sleepy."

Before Matthew could say anything in response she had run off to show her other friends. He didn't even hear their laughter.

Now he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He was an ancient being who embodied knowledge and the hearts of his people. He was all of this- and yet… He couldn't find the will to turn the lights off. He curled into himself and fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

_Flashes of steel._

_A burning pain in his chest._

_Laughter from his mouth that wasn't his own._

_Death's changing faces._

_Himself standing on a hill soaked in the blood of fallen comrades._

_Vimy Ridge._

_D-Day._

_Juno Beach._

_1812._

_He was panting. His chest heaved as he struggled to right himself. He found himself in a clearing surrounded by American soldiers. Dead. Dead. ALL OF THEM DEAD. _

_His uniform was red. It had started out like that but now the colour was darker and expanding in large blossoms._

_The soldiers were gone._

_Willow._

_Willow was there with another drawing._

_"This is you." She said pointing to a completely black page of paper. "You are the night mares."_

_Red started to seep through her clothes and her small form dropped down to the ground._

_There were people from all the wars and all the battles of the past._

_He screamed._

_He cried and he screamed._

_He laughed_

* * *

Matthew resurfaced from his dream gasping and trembling. Everything hurt and it was loud. He felt hands on him. The hands were hot and refused to let him go. He tried to kick away. He needed to get away from _him._ _ He _was holding him down. _He _was drowning him. His head pounded and a constant screaming in the background wasn't helping. Thunder also rumbled in the distance. When one of the hands clamped down over his mouth Matthew realised that the screaming was coming from himself. He opened his eyes and they frantically flitted around the dark room. Why was it dark? _If it was dark then _he _would find him._ Matthew bit down on the hand over his mouth and heard someone cursing. '_Gil?' _his foggy mind thought.

"Turn…On…The damn…lights!" He gasped in a hoarse voice. The mattress under him shifted and the hands left his body. The sound of a light switch flicking didn't deliver the results he wanted.

"Looks like the power's gone…" Prussia said as another clap of thunder rumbled. Matthew felt the mattress dip underneath him again and the hands were back. He was cold so the hot hands seemed to sear his skin. He looked over at Prussia but his eyes widened as he saw Willow staring back at him. He didn't scream. He just let out a sob. Gilbert gasped softly and pulled the crying man into his arms.

"Shit Matt… fuck…you're so thin I could snap you in half… And you're shaking- like really badly shaking. Matt? Can you hear me?" He muttered all of this into the other man's ear. Matthew nodded. He hadn't noticed how badly he was trembling. He rested his head on Gilbert's shoulder and nodded. The tears still flowed. He felt the nimble Prussian's hands card through his hair and hold him steady.

"What the fuck was that Mattie? Was that why you left?"

Matthew's grip just strengthened on the back of the man's shirt and he let out another loud sob as he burrowed his face into the crook of Prussia's neck.

They stayed in silence for a while until the shaking subsided and Matthew relaxed in Gil's arms. His breathing steadied out. The kid was asleep. Prussia gently put him back down on the mattress. Matt didn't look good. He had bags under his eyes and the headlights from a passing car managed to illuminate the room and give a glimpse of how pale the young nation really was. Tonight the roles would be reversed and now Matthew would sleep but Gil…Gil would be up all night. He walked down the creaking stairs to the living room. He rummaged through a bag of his stuff. He found his iPod and crept back up to Matt's room. He gently lay down next to his friend on the bed and plugged in his head phones. He lay staring up at the ceiling as the first song came on.

_Step one, you say, "We need to talk."_

_He walks, you say, "Sit down. It's just a talk."_

_He smiles politely back at you_

_You stare politely right on through_

_Some sort of window to your right_

_As he goes left and you stay right_

_Between the lines of fear and blame_

_You begin to wonder why you came_

He didn't sleep. He just wondered. He wondered and came to one conclusion. He didn't really know why he had come anymore…but he was going to stay until he remembered.

* * *

oh! I also want to let anyone who's interested know that I started work on an original comic of mine. You can read it here.

/series/How-to-Be-an-Angel-and-a-Sinner-in-1-Step-or-Less

SInce I am on summer break I should update regularly. I had to delete my other fic That Was Then because it lost direction. I had no idea how to go on with it so hopefully I'll go back to it later and re-post it.


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